Requiem
by Cerulean Solitaire
Summary: One shot, Ken's POV: nightmares plague him; ghosts haunt his dreams - and waking state as well. Blood is on his hands; is it only illusion ...or something more real? My note: I had a hard time keeping this in present verb tense. I kept reverting to past.


I wake with a start; I gasp for air, grateful for the mere existence of it. Dreams, nightmares, plaguing me, haunting me…

I have killed so many. So many… their blood remains on me, staining me, my hands covered in it. My soul covered in blood…

I reach for the band to tie my hair back; blood drips from my hands onto the clean floor. Blood… not my own, it's _theirs….  _Them. The people I killed. The people I killed for a twisted sense of justice, a contorted view of what is, was, and should be… should have been… what should have been….

Blood stains. It stains the floor, and it stains my hands. I try to wipe it away, but it smears on the floor, the stain worse.

I must get away… I have to clean this blood from my conscience, my heart, my soul, my hands. Clean… clean the blood… I have to clean the blood… I have to get rid of its awful stink….

I find myself stumbling towards the washbasin; I have to get the blood off of me. So many people… so many lives, so many souls… I killed them all, me, my godlike speed and swift katana… So many lives, ended so abruptly, by my hands. Who was I…? Who was I to decide who lives or dies?

Who was I? I was Battousai, a voice states in the back of my head, the edge of my consciousness. I _am _Battousai.

No! Not anymore… I am not him… I am not _you… _I am not…

Me.

I am not me.

I am not me?

I must be drunk.

I _am_ drunk, the voice tells me. Drunk on blood… bloodlust… the sickening smell, the metallic scent wafting through the air, mingling with the metal of the sword's blade….

Blood… I am both enthralled by it and terrified of it; craving it and repelling it; welcoming it and cursing it. Blood… blood, on my hands, staining them…

The washbasin is in front of me. It is full of tepid water from the dishes Yahiko neglected. Yahiko… little Yahiko…. He is so innocent. He has no blood on his hands, his conscience; no souls haunt him, seeking revenge….

I must wash this blood from me. Before it consumes me.

I sink my hands into the water; it turns red. Must get rid of the smell… the stench, the rough, metallic scent… the scent of death…. The scent, the taste, fills my mouth.

I had no right to cause such death. To take so many lives, to hold dreams, aspirations, and feelings all in the palm of my hands… which are now covered in their blood… broken dreams, shattered by the blade of my katana… families, torn apart, people, living, breathing people, torn limb from limb, all in the name of Meiji…. How could I have done this? What twisted logic allowed me to…

You, the voice states coldly, mercilessly. You brought this upon yourself. It was by your hand that they were all killed. Your hand….

Your hands….

Covered in blood. My hands are covered in blood. My blood, theirs, it doesn't matter; all blood stinks of the same stench. Death.

I scrub furiously at my hands… wash away the blood, all the blood, all the death….

I didn't notice the slight figure at the door. I didn't notice until she put her hand on my shoulder; such a warm touch, light, soft….

Innocent. She is so utterly innocent… untainted… untainted with my blood, the blood of the countless souls I've killed, the lives I've cut so short….

Her hand is warm. Warm, and light as a sakura petal on a soft spring day; equally gentle, equally beautiful. I cannot bring myself to lift my head, to meet her azure gaze… such eyes… I would surely succumb to them.

She whispers my name concernedly; a soft breeze amidst a whirling, red hurricane of torment, torture, emotion. A slender finger reaches under my chin, turning my face gently toward hers. I am forced to look into those eyes, those pools of untarnished cerulean….

My tears flow freely; tears for the lost souls, the pain, suffering, and angst I caused. Tears of blood. I cannot hold them back any longer, I have no wish to.

My throat constricts. My breath comes in ragged, shallow gasps and sobs. She holds me, puts her arms around me, comforts me. I lean against her; I have no one else to turn to, no one else I trust so dearly.

No one else I love so dearly.

No, you mustn't think that! I tell myself. I know what happened the last time I loved another. The memory is still fresh, though the scar, the physical scar, isn't. I know the physical scar is only superficial; but the emotional scar, the scar on my soul, runs much deeper. I cannot love this woman, not as I loved _her, _so long ago…. The light scent of plum blossoms reaches up from the depths of my memory. I cannot love her.

But I do.

I _do_ love her; I can't deny it, not to myself. Never to myself…

And never to her.

A new scent mingles with that of the plums; jasmine. Sweet, fragrant, lilting jasmine tickles my consciousness; it is not an altogether unpleasant thing.

My blood, which had turned cold as winter within my veins, begins to warm. The empty, icy void in my chest begins to fill. She holds me to her, and I hold her back; she feels so good in my arms.

Such a wonderful feeling; to have someone to turn to. Someone to love. Someone to help you through the pain, to shoulder your pain. Someone to—

Someone to feel your pain.

She is feeling my pain.

Our emotions are somehow linked; she feels what I feel, sorrow, anguish, angst. _I am inflicting this on her _is my first thought. _I am doing this to her, I am causing her this pain, _my_ pain. My past… it comes to haunt her yet again. Why can I never protect her from it?_

"Kaoru…." Her name falls from my lips. My throat constricts again, tears still spilling down my cheeks. "I am so sorry… I never meant to—"

I am stopped by a finger to my lips; my breath hitches with another small sob. She says nothing, but leads me outside. Outside, to a warm summer night, a warm summer breeze.

We sit on the steps, under the stars. Her arms still around me, still comforting me, my hands still slightly wet; whether with water or blood, I do not wish to know.

The stars… they have always intrigued me. Frightened me, perhaps. They were something I could never touch, never grasp. Bright, enigmatic diamonds twinkling against a vast void. Tonight, they twinkled with something else…

The stars shone tonight with the souls of the dead. _My_ dead… all the people I've killed, lives I've took mercilessly… the stars reflected that mercilessness back at me, the bright points boring into my soul….

I close my eyes tightly as fresh, hot tears slip down my cheeks. She brushes my tears away gently; she is so sweet, so caring. She holds me closer, and I lean my head against her shoulder.

She whispers a single word into the night: "daijobu." The word is weighted with such meaning; _don't worry, it'll all be okay, I'll always be here for you…._

_I'll always be here for you. _I stay in her warm embrace; I just want this moment to last forever. Comforted, I feel I can look again at the stars. They do not seem so merciless now, glittering softly against the black silk of the night.

Gazing at the stars, I still see the souls of the dead, faintly. But the blood… the blood no longer stains my own soul, not with such vehement ferocity as it has in the past. The blood… all the blood… has receded to a dull ache in my heart, a slight scent wafting up from my turbulent memories. It no longer covers my hands.

Closing my eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of jasmine, my soul sings a quiet, bloody requiem to the stars… to the dead….


End file.
